


You'd Be the First One to Know

by burglebezzlement



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Dinner, Episode tag for 2x05, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Possession, Spoilers through 2x05, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burglebezzlement/pseuds/burglebezzlement
Summary: It’s not like they make cards that say Happy Two Month Anniversary (minus the seven weeks I spent possessed by a demon). Waverly’s dealing with it the best that she can.





	You'd Be the First One to Know

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from an old Wanda Jackson tune, to continue with the show's tradition of naming stuff after country songs.

Nicole comes home to a light in her window.

“Waves?” She keeps one hand on her gun as she slides open the door, because this is Purgatory.

But inside, the lights are shining, and it smells like food and warmth and home. Waverly bounces up from the couch. 

“You’re home!” she says. “Not that I was waiting. Exactly.”

Nicole leans down for a kiss, short and sweet. Waverly tastes like bubblegum lip balm. She’s got Nicole’s cat, Calamity Jane, slung over her shoulder. The cat’s purring, a rusty wheezing sound that Nicole hasn’t heard much recently.

“That’s new,” Nicole says, motioning towards the cat, and then winces when she remembers why Calamity Jane suddenly started hiding when Waverly came over.

“Guess cats aren’t big on cuddling with demons.” Waverly’s voice is even. Neutral. It’s her dealing-with-it voice, the one she puts on for Dolls and Wynonna and her aunt. The one Nicole has been listening to for the past week.

“Hey.” Nicole puts an arm around Waverly’s waist. “It’s good to see you,” she says, a little emphasis on the _you_ that maybe she didn’t mean to put there. 

Waverly’s mouth quirks up on one side. “Yeah. Me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Nicole runs her hand down Waverly’s arm, fingers gentle against her girlfriend’s skin. “Let me change, okay?”

“Okay.” Waverly goes in for another kiss before she lets Nicole go, though, and Nicole lets herself linger. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Waverly calls through the door while Nicole strips off her uniform jacket and khakis and pulls on an oversized sweater and yoga pants. Earp clothes, she thinks of them now. She needs to get down to the city this weekend and buy some new work pants, now that Nedley’s finally loosened his reign of khaki terror. 

“Starving,” Nicole calls back. It was a long day of handling shoplifters and drunks, and bored teenagers with Sharpies and walls to write on, and lunch was a sandwich she only got to eat half of, because another call came in.

“Wynonna’s staking out those weirdos from the Fire Department,” Waverly calls. “The ones who tried to kill me.”

The weirdo fire fighters who also fight demons, just like everyone else in the Ghost River Triangle. Except Nicole. Sometimes Nicole wonders about that. What’s next, a secret cadre of local Public Works who fight demon alligators in Purgatory’s sewers? A demonic plot foiled by the local ice cream delivery guy?

She brushes her fingers through her hair and looks at herself in the mirror. She likes the shorter hair. Her hair used to ache at the end of the day, when she finally let it out of the braid. 

“I always wondered why a town as small as Purgatory had enough firefighters for a calendar,” Nicole says, coming back out into the main room. Not that the calendar would ever be her thing, but Marge down in Maintenance has one that she insists on showing off whenever anyone wanders down to the basement. Mr. February just has a fireman’s helmet in a strategic location. Nicole’s hoping for something a little less revealing from Mr. March.

In the main room, Waverly’s lighting candles on Nicole’s little fold-down table, which is set with cloth napkins and wine glasses and silverware. Nicole didn’t even know she had candle holders, much less fancy wine glasses.

Waverly sees Nicole looking. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I knew it.” She looks down at the table.

“No,” Nicole says. “No, it’s perfect. I just didn’t know if I missed an anniversary or something.”

“I’ll get the food!” Waverly says, brightly, and then Nicole knows that she did miss something.

“Waves?”

“I hope you like garlic bread.” Waverly sets down two plates, loaded with lasagna, and turns back to the kitchen. 

Nicole follows her in, stepping up behind her and pressing her body against her. “What did I miss?”

Waverly’s still, and then she sighs. “Two-month anniversary,” she says, turning so she’s facing Nicole. “I planned it last week.”

It takes Nicole a moment. Last week. “When you were —”

“—kinda super-hella-possessed,” Waverly says. “Yeah.”

“Do you —” Nicole’s not sure how to say it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even want to think about it.” Waverly steps away from Nicole, her hands moving restlessly over the counter. “But I can’t stop. It’s like —” She scrunches up her nose. “This wine. Did I pick it? Or did Mictian just have really good taste in wine? Maybe 1989 was a great year for low-end California reds and being evil.”

Nicole picks up the bottle. “First off, this wine is too cheap to have a year on it. And second, it has alcohol. I think that’s the most important thing.”

Waverly looks at her side-long. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nicole slides the bottle over and opens a drawer to grab the corkscrew. 

Waverly studies the bottle. “This chicken is cute,” she says, tracing her finger over the rooster on the label. “I think I picked it out.”

“You did.” Nicole kisses Waverly on the forehead and takes the wine to open. Waverly’s the only person she knows who chooses her wine based on the presence and cuteness of the animal on the label.

Once the wine is poured, they pick up their forks and start eating. Waverly made fancy little salads, with orange slices on curly lettuce and some sort of creamy dressing.

“I wasn’t gone,” Waverly says, when their salads are finished. She gets up and grabs Nicole’s plate, like she’s looking for an excuse not to look at Nicole while she says this. “I was still in there the entire time.”

Nicole’s not sure what to say, but she knows she wants Waverly to keep talking. “I know you were,” she says.

“I think it was still me.” Waverly comes back with the cheese grater and starts grating long curls of some fancy cheese over Nicole’s lasagna.

“I was in control through most of it,” Waverly says. “I — I don’t remember what happened when the demon took over. But I think it was me for most of it.”

“I know,” Nicole says, and she reaches out and takes the cheese and the grater from Waverly.

“I couldn’t talk about it,” Waverly says. “The — Mictian wouldn’t let me. I could keep fighting it as long as I didn’t try to ask for help.”

Nicole thinks her heart might be breaking. She puts Waverly’s hand between hers and kisses it. “I know,” she says. “I know, baby, I know.”

Waverly’s voice hitches. “I didn’t know if I’d get to see you again,” she says. “When I ran over to you and kissed you — I’m really sorry, by the way. But I didn’t know if Mictian was going to take over and that might be the last time —”

Nicole gets up and wraps her in her arms. Waverly’s head falls into her shoulder and Nicole leans down and kisses her head. She strokes Waverly’s long hair, hands careful. “I know,” she says, like if she just says it enough times, everything will somehow be alright. “I know. You’re you now, Waves, and we’re going to figure everything else out.”

Waverly sniffles and laughs, a little, and hugs Nicole tighter. 

“I feel like I keep asking you if we can start over.” Her voice is tiny. “Nicole —”

“Waverly,” Nicole says, her voice rough. “I’m never going to stop wanting to start over with you.”

“Promise?” Waverly asks.

Nicole nods. Kisses Waverly’s head again. 

“Promise.”


End file.
